


Full-Time Job

by luminousbeings



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: ...causing Spock periodic and super-logical panic attacks, As if there's any other kind, Guardian Angel AU, M/M, Overprotective Bones, Pre-Slash, adrenaline junkie Jim, you know. the usual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-05 14:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6708574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminousbeings/pseuds/luminousbeings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones is Jim’s guardian angel. </p><p>Like, with wings. </p><p>It changes things less than you might think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Answer to a drabble prompt on tumblr over here: http://famous-wwi-flying-ace.tumblr.com/post/143556139094/ok-um-um-star-trek-aos-au-where-where-bones-is

_“Wow,_ ” Jim breathes. The phaser he’d had pointed at his own head ( _pointed at his own_ head _, holy baby Jesus, is this_ really _what he has to work with?_ ) falls to his side, and McCoy lets himself breathe a sigh of relief.

Apparently it wasn’t enough that he, Dr. Leonard H. McCoy, M.D., Ph.D., Resident Guardian Angel, had gotten assigned to protect Captain James I-clearly-want-to-die Kirk from all threats to his well-being (threats that were, more often than not, brought on by his own stupidity). No. Now Jim had to go and try to kill himself _directly_ , alone in his own captain’s quarters on a random Tuesday, leaving Leonard with no choice but to Appear to him.

Because he could bring Kirk back to life if he really had to, but that would be lot more trouble than the little bastard is worth. 

“Oh, man… Spock’s gonna blow a fuse when he sees this,” Jim mutters, walking slowly around the angel, staring in awe. Probably at the wings. Those tend to throw people for a loop. Or maybe the scowl which, while less unusual than the wings, is probably more impressive.

“Spock’s not gonna see this, kid,” says McCoy, gritting his teeth. “No one’s s’pposed to see me, including you, and the minute you stop playin’ with phasers, I’m outta here. Now gimme that thing.”

“Playing with phasers?” Jim repeats. “Who ever said I was playing?”

Leonard narrows his eyes. “You’ve never been suicidal before. An adrenaline junkie, sure. An irresponsible nutcase, absolutely. But not suicidal. I’ve saved you loads of times and you always… You—” That when it hits him all at once, because _oh that little—_ “You did this on purpose. You were _trying_ to force me into Appearing.”

“Got it in one, Bones!” says Jim cheerfully, and not at all apologetically. McCoy glares.

 _“’Bones’_?” he demands.

“That’s been my nickname for you since you saved me from that rockslide on Gehnadréa last month. If not for you I probably would’ve broken every bone in my body. So.”

“Gehnadréa? You’ve known for that long?”

“Well,” says Jim. “I kind of suspected something was off before that, but the rockslide was when I first saw you. Or thought I saw you. I was kind of concussed at the time, so it was hard to say for sure… It was a real Little Mermaid moment, though, let me tell you! If the Little Mermaid were a cranky, overprotective doctor with a Southern accent and a magical hypo, that is.” Jim laughs. It doesn’t make Leonard want to strangle him any less. “Wait ‘til Spock finds out you weren’t a hallucination! He’ll be so confused, it’ll be _amazing_ —”

“Like I said,” Bones grates out. “He’s not _gonna_ find out, because I’m leaving.” And he’s just about to do it, too, when Jim’s hand catches on his wrist.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Jim says, softer this time, with a crooked, vaguely sheepish grin. “I didn’t mean to manipulate you… Okay, I did, but I just wanted to…you know. Talk to you. Say thank you.” He pauses. “Offer you some tea?”

“I don’t like tea,” Leonard grumbles, but he doesn’t pull Jim’s hand away either. God only knows why. “Fine. Just this once. What did you want to know?”

“Jesus, I don’t know! It’s not every day I talk to my literal guardian angel.” He looks at Bones speculatively. “Does everyone have one of you guys looking out for them?”

“No,” says McCoy. “Just those ‘specially self-destructive idiots like you. I mean, _honestly,_ twelve life-threatening situations in two weeks!? For the love of all that holy, are you _trying_ to make my life miserable?”

Jim looks bemused. “Um. Sorry?”

“I should hope so, after the months of ridiculous work hours you’ve put me through! Most guardian angels I know are bored most of the time. Did you know that? _Bored!_ Meanwhile I’m runnin’ around tryin’ to keep you from getting your head smashed open in a barfight or being tortured to death by Klingons or contracting some exotic alien STD! The only angel whose workload is even _close_ to mine is Dr. Watson. And he may be watching another idiot with the self-preservation skills of a five-year-old, but at least Watson’s guardee isn’t _actively_ trying to get himself killed!”

Jim blinks, processing all of that, and of course the one detail he pulls out of McCoy’s rant is the completely irrelevant one— “Are all of you, uh, angel…people… doctors?” he asks.

“Of course,” says Bones, crossing his arms. “How else would we save your sorry hides?”

“I dunno. Magic?” Jim suggests.

Bones huffs. “God already created a method that can cure illness and temper pain if it’s used correctly. It’s called _medicine_. It’s not His fault if you damn fools haven’t figured out how to use it right.”

Jim tilts his head, considering this, and Bones uses the opportunity to lunge forward and grab the phaser from his hand.

“What the—” He looks at the setting display, lighting up red behind the trigger. “Is this set to kill? Are you _insane_?”

“Well I wasn’t gonna shoot the thing,” says Jim mildly. “Why does it matter?”

“Why does it matter?” he repeats, incredulous. “Why does it _matter!_? Because you’re _needed_ here, you salt-sucking moron!”

The captain frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean if you’re here, in the universe, alive, then there’s something that has to get done here that only you can do. Because, trust me, if God didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Huh,” says Jim. His voice is thoughtful, and kind of… surprised.

“Especially you,” McCoy adds. “You would definitely be dead by now. You’re an idiot.”

Jim looks at him, bemused. “Your words of comfort are so encouraging. Really. I’m encouraged.”

“No, but really. You should be dead.”

“I’m feeling the love, Bones. Even if the ‘I’ll be here for you’ part of the speech could use some work.”

“Several times over, at _least_ ,” continues the angel, ignoring him.

“So you’ll stick around, right? Because you never know what sort of trouble I’ll get into. Being a Starfleet Captain is a dangerous job—there’s the away missions to uncharted planets, and the hostage situations, and the cafeteria meatloaf…” When McCoy doesn’t respond he adds, “And there are plenty more phasers where that came from.”

Bones rubs the bridge of his nose wearily. “Yes. Yes, you numbskull, I’ll stick around.” He sighs. “Criticism bounces right off of you, doesn’t it.”

“That and phaserfire!” says Jim cheerfully.

McCoy’s eye twitches. “That is not funny. I swear to God—”

“You know,” Jim remarks, “for an angel you sure take the Lord’s name in vain a lot.”

Bones just kicks him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Answer to a drabble prompt on tumblr over here: http://famous-wwi-flying-ace.tumblr.com/post/144676007394/18-for-your-mckirk-guardian-angel-au-please

Here's the plan:

He's gonna break it to Spock slowly, let him relax into their chess game, maybe even let him win (hey, Jim will use whatever advantage he can get!). And then - and _only then_  - would Jim bring up the topic of his new "friend."

Here's what happens: 

Spock moves his first piece and Jim blurts, “Spock… There’s, uh…this guy…”

Spock looks up at him.

“You know,” Jim babbles, because clearly he doesn’t know when to shut up, “the one I was telling you about? Like a month ago? The one I was trying to meet…?”

“Captain,” says Spock. “Do you require a sexual partner?”

“What?” says Jim, because… _what?_ “No! I mean, yes, obviously, I always could use a sexual partner, but _no_ , not like that! I was just trying to _meet_ him. You know. To _talk_.”

His First Officer tilts his head in that way he does when he may or may not be buying Jim’s nonsense today. “Very well. However, should such a need arise, you may delegate the task of procuring an appropriate individual to me.”

Jim stares. “You’re offering to be my wingman? That’s, uh…” – _terrifying?_ – “sweet of you.”

“It is logical to allocate time and resources into accommodating the physical necessities of the crew,” Spock explains primly. “And my ‘wingman’-ing methods have proven themselves to be exceptionally effective.”

In his mind’s eye, Jim can just see Spock looming over some poor, trembling lieutenant and saying, very calmly and very quietly, “The Captain requires periodic coitus in order to maintain optimal functioning capacity. Are you sufficiently equipped to complete this task?”

“I’m sure you’re very compelling,” Jim assures him. “But I’m not talking about that. I mean my guardian angel. The one who’s always with me, making sure I’m okay, looking out for me…”

Spock has gotten a vaguely pinched look on his face. “Captain, are you attempting to convert me to Christianity?”

“What?” says Jim. “No! Spock, I’m talking about my _literal_ guardian angel. You know… Bones! I finally got to see him again! And now I can say with full, non-concussed conviction that he is _hot_.”

The Vulcan is silent for a moment. “I believe I would prefer if you were attempting to convert me to Christianity,” he says at last.

“Yup,” says Jim, ignoring that. “Mark my words, a week from now I’mma be having awesome angel sex.”

“Jim,” Spock says, and it’s already a little unusual that he’s using Jim’s actual name, but the tone of—almost— _concern_ is downright weird. “When did you meet this…angel?”

“Uh… Maybe an hour ago? I was in the middle of shooting myself in the head and he—”

“You were,” says Spock, and then…“What?”

“I was shooting myself in the head, Spock, keep up! Anyway, he appeared, right over there, all gorgeous and grumpy-like. And get this! He has actual _wings_! Do you think they’re, you know, extra-sensitive or something? Like Vulcans’ ears?”

He looks at Spock, who stares back at him, baffled and—if Jim didn’t know better—a little bit alarmed. He seems to struggle for a response.

“I…do not know, Captain.”

Jim pouts. “Oh come on. You can’t even come up with a hypothesis? I can’t believe you don’t care about my dramatic rendezvous with my own personal knight in shining armor.”

“On the contrary,” says Spock, having regained his composure somewhat, “Your interaction with… ‘Bones’ is of great interest to me. As, I am certain, it will be to your Chief Medical Officer.”

Jim blinks. “Chapel? Why would she care?”

“Both Doctor Chapel and this…’Bones’—”

“Doctor McCoy,” Jim supplies.

Spock gives him a strange look. “Doctor McCoy, then. Both are involved in the same endeavor to preserve your physical wellbeing. I believe she will be most… riveted by your account.”

“Yeah?” says Jim, because it makes sense, but, like, it’s really late? And Chapel’s probably winding down for the evening. It’s sort of impolite to come to the medbay with anything other than an emergency at 2146 hours.

But Spock is already on his feet. “Please come with me, Captain,” he says, and Jim gets up, because you don’t say no to Spock asking nicely. You just don’t.

The whole way to medbay, Spock walks a lot closer to Jim than he usually does, and just slightly behind him, as if afraid that he’s about to bolt. So Jim is the first one Chapel sees when they walk through the door.

Her mouth opens (probably to very-respectfully yell at him for bothering her after hours), before she catches sight of Spock and her mouth snaps shut.

“Commander,” she says, like Jim isn’t even there, which is kind of insulting. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Jim,” says Spock, using his _name_ again. And in front of _people_ no less! “Tell Doctor Chapel about your meeting tonight.”

Jim frowns. “I was just telling him that my guardian angel appeared to me tonight. Finally.”

Chapel looks at him. “Is his name Jesus?”

“No! My literal guardian angel! He’s… I don’t know, a couple years older than me? Dark hair, dark eyes, dark sense of humor… Totally my type!”

“The Captain refers to him as ‘Bones,’” Spock supplies.

“I see,” says Chapel, very seriously. She’s put down on the medical supplies she had been organizing before they came in. “And did Commander Spock get to meet ‘Bones’?”

“Of course not,” Jim snorts. “He barely wanted to meet _me_. Only did it to stop me from blasting my own brains out.”

“Ah,” says Chapel.

“Anyway, sorry for bothering you so late,” says Jim. “Spock said you’d be curious about him, but I realize it’s very late for a chat…”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Chapel assures him quickly. “Out of curiosity, are you intending to, uh… see Bones again?”

“Sure.”

“And how do you intend to…make him appear?”

Jim crosses his arms and thinks about that. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter, though, does it? I could do anything dangerous and it’ll probably work. I could do it right now, even, if you don’t believe me.”

Chapel’s eyes widen. “No! I mean, no, that’s okay, I believe you!”

“You know, I don’t think you do.” Jim narrows his eyes, looking between Spock and Chapel. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” Spock and Chapel both start speaking, but he ignores them and walks around Spock, toward the door. Or tries to anyway. “Well, I can prove it. I just need something really sharp, or something poisonous… or, hey, I could just jump down the turbolift shaft, I bet that would…” He tries to side-step his First Officer again, but something akin to panic flashes across Spock’s face and his hand shoots out and—ahh, no, not the Vulcan Death Pinch Thing— “Spock—Spock, don’t you d—”

 

\---

 

When he opens his eyes, the medbay is dark and everything is kind of…twirly.

“Mmmngwhaaa?” he manages.

He doesn’t know what he’d been trying to say, but it definitely wasn’t that.

“I don’t know why I even try,” a familiar voice mutters, from a blob near his biobed.

A very… person-like blob.

A person-like blob with two big white blobs flapping behind him.

“Bones!” he says happily. It comes out sounding more like “ _bnnghhs_.”

“You’re really a special kind of crazy, you know that?” Bones continues, ignoring him. “And not even the normal kind of crazy, like hallucinatin’ or wantin’ to kill people. You’re a category of crazy all to yourself.”

“In my defense, it seemed like a brilliant idea at the time,” Jim tries, but it ends up as unintelligible nonsense. Jesus. What does Chapel have him _on_?

“In case you’re wondering,” Bones adds, as if reading his mind. “I had to make your tests positive for debellium brain rot disease. The working theory is that you picked it up from your last mission on Laertus II and you’re, supposedly, in terrible, agonizing pain. So Chapel has you on an impressive dose of troxaminadol—it’s like an epidural, but for your whole body.”

Well, that explains that. But… “Debellium brain rot disease?” he demands, and this time it actually sounds somewhat coherent. Accomplishments!

Bones just scowls back. “I had to make your blood tests positive for _something_ , or they’d’ve taken you off commission faster than a toupee in a hurricane. Trust me, out of all the diagnoses I coulda chosen that cause hallucinations and suicidal behavior, this was definitely the lesser evil.”

Jim has no idea what the treatments are for the other diagnoses, but considering he’s on so many meds he can’t even lift his hand to knock away the little mice that keep trying to poke needles into his eyes, they’re probably not pretty.

“Just so your story checks out, before the hallucinations and reckless behavior you had a bunch of other lovely symptoms, like sweating and shortness of breath and vomiting… Your hobgoblin First Officer is pissed that you never mentioned the 104.8-degree fever, in particular.”

Jim’s head is spinning and he’s given up on trying to speak or move or process information right now, but he does catch that last part. He sinks back into the pillow and closes his eyes with a groan. The last thing he wants to deal with right now is passive-aggressive Mister “Vulcans do not experience the emotion of anger, Captain, and yes I always cut my food straight through the metal plate” Spock.

“It’s your own fault, kid,” Bones is grumbling, but is voice is closer now, and softer. “The hell you think I am, some kind of 9-1-1 hotline? I don’t know if you’re insanely trusting or just insane. Are you seriously willing to _die_ to get my attention? I mean, I know I wasn’t exactly a saint when I was alive, but I don’t think I did anything to deserve _this_.”

“Jus’ wan’ed to see you,” Jim mumbles, halfway between throwing up and passing out.

For a long moment there’s silence. Silence and the low sounds of medical equipment and Jim’s own labored breathing.

“Yeah,” says Bones at last. His voice is rough and thick with…something. A warm hand covers Jim’s eyes and slowly the dizziness recedes to the corners of his mind. Exhaustion rushes forward to fill the empty spaces. “Me too.”

“You too what?” Jim tries to ask, having lost the line of conversation.

Bones sighs. “Shut up and go to sleep, Jim.”

He shuts up and goes to sleep.


End file.
